Dark Lord Potter One-shots
by dmanderson
Summary: This and future chapters are a series of one shots that occur in the alternate universe created by HoldMyBeer's wonderful "The Sum of their Parts" fic; /s/11858167/1/The-Sum-of-Their-Parts
1. Chapter 1

**This and future chapters are a series of one shots that occur in the alternate universe created by HoldMyBeer's wonderful "The Sum of their Parts" fic;**

s/11858167/1/The-Sum-of-Their-Parts

**I'm marking everything as M as there is a high probability of that being a relevant marker in a few story lines bouncing in my head at the moment. **

**None of this is mine and I grateful to be able to play in this side-sandbox of the mega-sandbox created by JK Rowling. **

The regal witch carefully stepped through the cluttered floor. Flying brooms, roaring miniature stuffed dragons carefully charmed to not harm the children who slept with them every night and dozens of bright orange wraps that had covered the mischief and mayhem that was the trademark of the Weasleys littered the floor. The remains of a birthday party for a very happy seven year old were beneath her feet.

She had won the present competition for her great-nephew. She almost always won unless she deliberately chose to lose for other advantages.

He was outside with his cousins and adopted families screaming his lungs out on the brand new beginners broom. As soon as he realized what was in the box from his favorite great aunt who had a long history of spoiling him rotten, he ran past the cake and ignored the candles to try to fly outside. His grandmother, her sister, had only shook her head as she had wanted to give him his first real broom but had decided that the gift was better from her sister so that she could more readily take it away from him when he forgot to clean his room or cursed a friend in a momentary temper tantrum.

Almost all of the other adults were outside. Bill Weasley was being ridden like a thestral as a dozen little arms tried to hang onto him. Fleur had to laugh and then lean against a railing, hands cupping her growing belly again. Molly and Arthur were encouraging Ginny to give Teddy and the other children lessons - who else would be the trainer besides the lead Chaser for the Harpies? The young woman smiled and within a minute, she was a streak of black robes and red hair flying through the enchanted sky. Dozens of other children and their grown-ups were working through seconds of the marvelous cake and juice, or trying to play the Muggle game of croquet.

All were happy, all were safe as they were under the protection of the man she was about to meet. She could have gripped her wand. If she was to meet the Dark Lord's chief strategist or his tactician, she would have. Against them, she was still strong and skilled enough for a fighting retreat but against the newest Dark Lord, he would overwhelm her skills as if she was her son instead of a Black daughter.

Instead, she took a moment to breath, once in, hold the air, fill the lungs, allow her heart to beat twice and then out again, slowly emptying herself of all the waste her body produced every moment of living and then doing it again. She stilled and then advanced into the kitchen.

"Mistress Cissy, here is the Dark Lord's portkey" The house-elf looked at the Pureblood Wizamgamot leader with respect but not fear.

"Thank you, my dear, I did not catch your name" She took the dustpan from the female house-elf and smiled as she kept her fingers lightly pressed against the long, over-elongated fingers.

"Maisy, Mistress, my name is Maisy." The house-elf smiled in her soft answer. She was used to be treated well by the Dark Lord and his family, but there were still tails told by house-elves of the treatment that the unlucky few that were bonded to the Malfoys and Lestranges had to endure during the Blood Wars. Only lucky Dobby, free elf Dobby, had been able to escape.

"Again, thank you Maisy." With that, the witch drew herself up to her full height and waited just a few seconds until the dustpan began to glow blue and her stomach churned as she twisted through space and time.

As she was landing, a strong pair of hands reached out for her.

"Steady, steady, I apologize for the landing zone." The Dark Lord had one hand on her forearm where her former husband's colleagues had held a mark and the other on her shoulder. If the circumstances were different, needs could have been fulfilled as the man in front of her was strong and lean and whip smart. She was the age of his parents, and had known them, briefly, at Hogwarts but she still had needs and the wizarding world understood the vagaries of longer life spans and the slower aging process. But those were not the circumstances that led to the welcomed touch.

"Yes, Lord" Her face barely moved as she uttered the two words in a controlled whisper.

"Keep calling me that and I will curse you." His eyes twinkled and there was a hint of a curve in his mouth.

" You can't do that, at least not here, as you vowed on your magic my safety"

"I was mainly thinking of cursing your hair Weasley Red"

"Yet another horror that Lord Potter has inflicted upon the innocent population of Britain and all those who resist. What shall we do..." At this, her fixed face relaxed and she laughed. It was not a giggle or a chuckle. It was a laugh that started in her thighs, rode up through her stomach, pressed hard on her lungs and opened her face as the tension of anticipation released itself.

"Please, have a seat. I have Ogdens and a nice Belgian micro-brew that my spies have told me is quite popular at the Leaky Cauldron." He turned his back to her. She had no vow limiting her magic or her actions. She did nothing besides control her laughter and sat down in a well stuffed chair. A moment later, she could feel the soft caress of a master Legillemens brush against the front of her mind. Instantly, a brown bottle of floral tinged beer appeared with a pint glass.

"So, Lord Potter, besides sharing a beer with me, why do we need to talk?"

"Is that reason enough?"

"If there was not a 50,000 Galleon prize on your head, yes. But since there is one, you must have a reason to break your security to talk with me."

"I need to ask you for two things Lady Black."

She looked at him, intently. His wand was still holstered, he was relaxed and he was open in his face. She could read his face, but it was a stage face. Little quivers of nervousness flitted across his eyes. Odd.

"Ask for the easier thing first then."

He shifted, bit his bottom lip for a moment, reminding her, the veteran of now three civil wars, how young he truly was.

"I need a conservative opposition in the Wizamgamut. And that means either you or Greengrass as the pole of opposition. I trust you. I seldom agree with you but I trust your integrity and I trust your judgement, so I want you to lead the opposition."

She paused, waiting for him to speak. Time stretched as silence echoed between the two. The idea turned over in her head. There were factions within the chamber, there always were.

Longbottom was the leader of the reformist radicals. The young scion had been surprisingly skilled in collecting support and distributing spoils. He controlled a tactical blocking minority that always pressed for an expansion of the public sphere away from the Purebloods and the inherited aristocracy. McDonald and her band of twenty seven or so allies were aligned with Shacklebolt. They often were voting with Longbottom's crowd after sanding down rough spots in language and smoothing out disputes, but none of them particularly wanted the future that Potter desired; instead, they wanted a peaceful present. Appeasement gave them that. Potter and his allies had only struck twice in the past thirteen months.

Around her, there were twenty two votes who were losing most of the time. They had money, they had connections and they all had history together. Some had been Death Eater adjacent in the Blood Wars, most had tried to straddle the fence. Doing that had resulted in more than one impalement, figuratively and twice literally. Greengrass was quiet, effective and always maneuvering for his own economic advantage. She had the advantage of literally knowing where the bodies were buried. The Malfoy fortune had been renamed, but she kept enough of the gold and all of the knowledge that her deceased husband had squirreled away and had insufficient time to waste on Voldemort.

And then there were a dozen reactionaries. This faction had been culled. No more were there any Marked members. They had died at the hands and curses of Potter, Granger and Weasley. It barely mattered. McNairs, Yaxley, and Rookwood heirs and cadet branches had all lost greatly and they were bitter. And they could offer the wavering opposition the chance to wallow in their losses.

"I see. And how would you help me become the opposition leader?"

"We would need to plan and fail in a public attempt to assassinate you... that should help you consolidate your position?"

"Should I trust that you will miss?"

"Yes. I will make any vow that you desire, and Hermione will make the same vow."

"No need, I trust your word. Just don't do it this week or next Tuesday as I have to see Teddy in the afternoon and I would not like to distress him."

"Very well, would next Wednesday at 9:30 near Gringotts work for you. As soon as you see anything, duck low and head to your right. We will be using Draco's wand that we took from him. "

"So that was the simple request, Lord Potter, plotting my hopefully failed assassination. What is the difficult request?"

"I need the recipe for your chocolate trifle. Teddy won't eat any desert that I have prepared for him in the past three months as Auntie Cissy's trifle is so much yummier." The young man was out of sorts as he had become a Dark Lord for his godson and he was losing the affection of the young boy's stomach to a superior option.

"Lord Potter, that is far more difficult... my elves will not approve and given the recent legislation, I have to treat them with at least a modicum of respect." Her eyes flashed with humor.

"I see, I will curse Hermione for advancing that law too early."

"There may be something we can do; trade you the trifle for the Banana's Foster recipe Andi has been gloating about?"

He extended his hand and they shook. An assissination and a recipe, this was a productive meeting.


	2. Chapter 2 Unexpected honor

**December 2002**

Incisors clipped thin,pursed lips as long fingernails scratched against the old oak door that had seen the Lancasters fight the Yorks to a decisive victory only a few miles away. It was the portal to a small country farm house whose interior rooms had been built before the Black Death. Generations of intertwined families passed the house and steady improvements back and forth every time a daughter married a fourth cousin. The windows had glass placed in them for the first time just after the Statue of Secrecy had become a dividing issue in the family. Half of the squibs and hedge witches had been thrown out over a generation. Since then the Campbells had transformed from a family of the lower gentry, prosperous, educated well enough with a few sons joining the church, and most making their way into the world, into a family that kept the house up but seldom was seen around the county. Yet even when none of the locals had heard of a soiree, there were still lights in the house and faint echoes of laughter and music on summer nights near the solstice.

Matthew Campbell hurried through the door to get behind the last of the family wards. He had checked the perimeter wards and there was no threat. Nothing larger than fox had crossed the yard. No magical being who did not have a family ring on their finger had come within half a mile of the house. These were old wards, strong wards that were maintained. Every decade for the past ninety years, the ward stones were moved ever so slightly to account for continental drift. Every generation, a pair of secrecy bonded goblins collected the wages of a working man's year for a day's worth of work, reviewing and revising the wards. Some generations, gaps were filled. Other generations, had seen almost a complete reconstruction as obsolete defenses were removed or mothballed and new means were added. And every moment, the wards grew in their power. They had protected the Campbells during Grindelwald;s War. They had never been attacked in the Blood War by either side as they attempted to stay Gray. During the last unpleasantness, the Campbell House had been a local base that allowed for firm control of the local country side. Only once had an attack been attempted. It fizzled after a minute and a death.

Matthew needed to stay behind the wards. It was not safe, Potter's raiders had made public appearances of any one with a scintilla of suspicion of being aligned with Death Eaters or even the Pureblood bloc an extremely risky and short life. It took very little for those raiders to be unleashed. A short conversation, a shared cup of tea, a procedural vote to require a second reading of the minutes. He was safe. He was home.

And he was furious. His son had been falling in with the Notts and Goyles at Hogwarts. He thought he had taught the boy well enough to not be a complete idiot. Professors Slughorn and Sprout had both written to him over the past eighteen months. The Headmistress had even approved a three day excused absence two months ago for a long and pointed discussion about the lack of wisdom of associating with known Death Eater supporting families who still had not learned to be discreet about their opinions. John had been sure that he was smart enough and powerful enough to defend himself with only the wisdom and confidence that a reasonably bright but not amazingly brilliant sixteen year old could possess. Anything his father said he had parried and those words that he could not avoid, he ignored.

As Matthew poured himself a small shot of whiskey, he sighed. He too had been too confident in his youth. He was a lucky man, a boy during the first Blood War where his mother and father were able to protect him and his two younger sisters from the reality of the gloom of daily dread, and a young man during the decade of false peace where his temper was unlikely to bring ruin onto himself or his family.

But damn the boy; if the owls were right, at least some of his buddies had been seen raping a Muggle girl in an alley in London. The youngest Nott had already had his magical core ruined and the broken body with a barely functional mind in it had been thrown to the Muggle aurors for whatever they would do to a suspect that they had dead to rights. He was going to get himself and his family killed.

Another sip, the smooth fire rolled to the deepest portion of his anger and fear. And then the wards were under assault. His wand was in his hand and he had twisted his ring to the alert position. Alice and their youngest son were in Bristol with the in-laws and they had no intention of returning tonight but he wanted them to stay away. Her ring would burn hot and bright. He had time. He ran to the Floo and threw powder in. Nothing happened. He tried it again. Again nothing.

"Damn them... might as well die taking one with me..."

He waited. He still had time. The wards had held for centuries.

And then they collapsed, four minutes into the attack.

"Revelio" A broad glaze of magic went out to the front lawn. Two, no three, human sized shapes were approaching at a range of seventy feet. One was supporting a heavy, almost dead weight while the free man was a dozen feet in front of the pair. A long, thin wand was in front of the tall, broad shouldered man. He walked with his head high and eyes forward, as if he was merely delivering an invitation to an Quidditch listening party instead of assaulting an old manor home.

Matthew fired half a dozen stunners and a chain of silent bone breakers, shield splitters, organ crushers. The lean man barely moved. He swayed to the side to avoid an bone breaker. He conjured half a dozen blue stone balls to absorb organ crushers and stunners. And then he apparated and re-appeared two yards to the right to dodge the next round of spells. Nothing had yet come from his wand.

Matthew was sweating. Nothing had slowed the attackers down except their own choice to walk. And even then, they were not dashing to cover, sending a few spells in his direction to force his head and his wand down. Another half a dozen spells, all increasingly rare and some dark went towards the attackers that were less than twenty feet from the front door. Suddenly, a shield was erected. Church bell gongs that had not been heard since the first downfall of Voldemort sounded in the yard. It was a ferocious shield that only became stronger as it absorbed the power of each attack.

"Mr. Campbell, I request honorable parley" It was the voice of the most feared man in Britain. The newest Dark Lord himself was in the front yard.

"Leave my yard and my house Potter before the Aurors get here..." Campbell was ready for death. He had kept his wife and youngest son safe and had fought as hard as he could yet he had merely been toyed with.

"The Aurors won't be coming tonight. You had no means to contact them, and anyways, there are at least eleven other raids happening now. They are needed in Diagon Alley as that was our visible target tonight. But the Aurors aren't needed here anyways."

"Why not Potter, there will be murder, mine or yours"

"no, no murder here. Life and a lesson yes, but no murder, not even mayhem. Hermione, please advance to Mr. Campbell."

The pair behind the Dark Lord advanced. Mr Campbell could see the bushy haired woman advance. She bore the weight of a wounded youth. As she stepped into a pool of moonlight, it was his son. He was wan and white. An ugly scar went from shoulder to hip, purple skin, the sign of a combat field healing held blood and guts in.

The young woman, the strategist of the Dark Lord, stopped at the door and gently laid the boy down. She placed a bag of potions and another of gold on his chest.

She then stepped behind her comrade and compatriot's shield before speaking.

"Mr. Campbell, your son was present at the rape of Elizabeth Burke this afternoon. He tried to stop Nott and Henderson but was disarmed by Sectumseptra, a fairly nasty cutting curse. One of our compatriots who had been keeping the junior Death Eaters under observation first alerted the Muggle police and then aided your son who would have bled out in only a few more minutes. He will recover, he may not dance, or at least dance well for a long time, and his tennis game is ruined but he needs to be home with his family to recover."

He barely heard a thing that the second most wanted wand bearer in England had said. His son, his son was here, and he was alive. And somehow, they would both live through the night.

"Mr. Campbell, give him a dose of the potions, I wrote up the instructions, every six hours and make him walk every day. Dittany and Murtlap may help as well. Poppy knows these wounds too."

"Why, why did you deliver him to me"

"We need to honor the honorable, and while your son is a knucklehead with horrendous choice in friends, he tried to do right. We're not monsters, even if I am a Dark Lord. Please remember that..."

With that, the two most wanted wand bearers in England apparated to the Orkneys where Ron had been coordinated a series of raids throughout the night. Three quarters of the teams were back; no casualties and usually at least partial success. The wards of one manor had not fallen and the team had aborted their attack before taking losses.


	3. Chapter 3

**Spring 2002**

"Damn it girl, get moving" The patriarch of the family could not hide his scowl. His fully trained daughter, possessor of five NEWTS still had shit for brains. She was trying to convince her mother that she could defend the manor.

"Daddy, I can hold them off, they never were that scary at school. He always had friends and luck whenever he won..."

"Pansy, you are allowed one bag and ten minutes. No more and no longer. If you are not in the foyer by then, I will invoke my privileges as head of House and holder of the Line." He was disappointed in her. She should know better. She had known better, but after the flurry of attacks and attempted assassinations against her family's allies the previous fall, there had been silence. Potter and Granger and Weasley had gone to ground. Aurors had made half a dozen sweeps and picked up nothing. There had been a brief exchange of spells in Wales between a few of Potter's goons and half a dozen Hit Wizards. One Hit Wizard had been stunned and immobilized, another had their brains rattled but no more damage than a week at St. Mungos could resolve. But beyond that, there was nothing. No whispers, no hints, no attacks.

Paramonos Parkinson did not care about the silence. He knew silence was deadly. He knew silence was strategic. He knew silence was when strength was built, plans hatched, and sites scoured for intelligence. He knew this as he had been an unmarked Death Eater since his sixth year at Hogwarts. His Lord had insisted that he not take His mark as He needed allies who were not under suspicion by the Ministry and Dumbledore. He knew it was in silence that strikes would emerge from the darkness, death delivered and apparitions popping before the alarm could be raised and Aurors dispatched.

Already he had been targeted. Potter was powerful and not a complete idiot. Using Avery as a killer drone had a certain kind of brutal elegance. Who else could he have Imperioused? Who else among friends had a kill order in the back of their mind just waiting to be triggered? Who else could not be trusted?

They had to be on the move. The wards were strong, but so were the wards around Malfoy Manor. That had done Lucius no good. Fidelius was a particularly difficult charm to cast. No more than half a dozen wands in all of Britain could reliably cast it, and none of them were disposed to doing the Parkinson Family a favor. So instead of stealth, they had chosen strength, visible, over-awing strength. And then the golems would be the targets as the family would disappear to the continent. If the plan worked, the wards would hold, and the traps would be triggered, taking Potter or at least some of his minions across the Veil. If the plan was barely sufficient, the manor would be torched, a dozen generations of wealth looted but the family and the gold in their Gringott's vault protected.

His daughter still believed in fairy tales. She still believed that Potter and his gang were weak and lucky. She was still listening to Draco, her former lover, instead of him, her father. No one who could defy Lord Voldemort and live, not just once but half a dozen times could only be lucky. She would be lucky to survive with her head if only she could remove it from her fantasies.

He was ready. His wife came down the grand central staircase with two bags; one for him, and the other, extendable and featherlight, for her. He relaxed slightly as her wand was out as well. Living on the other side of the dark times had carved deep lines into her face, but she squeezed her husband's hand gently. They both began to tap their feet as they waited for their daughter.

Seven minutes later, Pansy appeared. Three minutes later, the family slit their palms open to pour blood onto the ward stones, giving their power and life to the protection of their house. The stone glowed and pulsed as energy ran to the edges of the property. By the time the perimeter wards had acknowledged the family's gift, they were gone, flooing to a safe house in Dublin and then off to another in Belfast.

**Caen, France**

"Harry, the Parkinson Manor has been abandoned"

"Are you certain?"

"Yes, fully."

"Very well" he sighed. The elder Parkinson generation thickly populated the remaining Category A and B target list. Pansy was a D level target of opportunity where there was little to be gained in a direct attack on her, yet. Ron was with his brother and a newly pledged recruit updating the tracking and planning boards. Hermione waited patiently for Harry as he kept his eyes looking over the farm lands leading to the Channel.

"We can keep the watch up, something will come loose sooner or later. Even the most dedicated hiders will let something slip." Hermione sighed, she knew the strain and stress of being on the run. However they did not have the power of the Ministry nor the ability to offer a Taboo on any of their names. The Parkinsons, if they were patient, were probably gone for as long as they needed to feel safe.

"If we carry out Bludger, we can still overrun the Flint household and that should be enough to keep the fear up. Andi and Neville are working the factions now. I think we have a solid quarter in willing support and can shift another third through fear of both us and would could be next. Six months of silence broken by a major success will solidify a working majority..."

Hermione looked at her friend, her soul bond, her compatriot and bit her lip. Harry was driven. That was always a scary sight for anyone on the end ofhis determination. For so long, that drive was mainly about staying alive. Malfoy and Snape had been object fixee for her friend past the point of reason. It was her job to hold back reason and logic when he had none. She bit her lip and opened up the bond.

Damascus carbon steel crated the anvil of logic as her brown eyes met and held his green eyes.

"No, Bludger against the Flints needs to be cancelled."

"But we can overwhelm them without causalities and before the Aurors arrive..."

"And when we do, what do we gain? We knock off some hidden Death Eaters and what else? We look like arseholes as the Flints have not risen wand or word against werewolves or vampires. They have questioned Hagrid's teaching ability but that is not a statement I particularly disagree with. I have quibbles on the margin as he does have excellent knowledge of all sorts of creatures but we agree with his judgement and pedagogy." She took a breath and reached out to hold Harry's hands in hers. Strong, thin fingers wrapped around his wrists that had grown strong and supple with daily wand work.

"Look at me Harry"

"I am" He was, as always losing himself in her eyes, his most brilliant and loyal friend especially as she told him what he did not want to hear.

"Marcus is an arse. His family would sign right back up to be Death Eaters. You know that, I know that, they know that. But we are not avenging the past. We are shaping the future. And that means we can't target them as it will reinforce the Death Eater adjacent camps with those who are tainted but not marked."

"Very well, what do you advise, my wise companion?" The laugh was not rich and full, it was stifled and came only from the throat and mouth instead of the full body laugh of joy and exhilaration, but it was enough. Her Dark Lord would listen to wisdom.

"Simple, we strike the remaining colony of Dementors. The dozen remaining are barely in Ministry control as it is and they are one of the means of terror that lays beneath the Ministry's strength. We can destroy and banish them.

**GUERNSEY RAIDED BY POTTER AND MINIONS**

**A DOZEN AURORS IN ST. MUNGOS**

**DEMENTORS DESTROYED**

Susan Bones could not move her lips. The dryness had sealed them. Her toes were not a part of her consciousness yet. They were not responding to her command. Her fingers fought the Skelegrow that had been administered every twelve hours for past day and a half.

She had been on the jump squad of Aurors. They had been playing Exploding Snap in the bullpen when the call for aid from Guernsey had come from the small detachment of Aurors guarding the last dozen Dementors. Shacklebolt did not know what to do with those demons besides isolate them from all wand holders and Azkahaban. So now the DMLE had to babysit them even as they hunted for Potter.

Ninety seven seconds after the call, the first Auror had apparated. They had been on the bounce, beating protocol by twenty three seconds. That was the only thing that went right.

She had launched herself into everything and nothingness, wand ready, and determining her destination, a fixed apparition point two hundred yards from the Dementor's camp. As soon as she landed, she looked left and looked right. Her battle buddy was ready. And then she could feel the blood bond call to her.

_Susan, non-lethals only, we are using non-lethals..._

That was her only succor. The three Aurors that had called for help had been overwhelmed with overpowered jinxes and school yard hexes. One was vomiting bats while the other two had their bodies frozen. A Weasley charmed swamp filled with alligators had been set up to surround the disabled Aurors.

"Accio Auror" She waved her wand. There was no effect.

The rest of the jump squad was ready. They began to advance, disappearing into the ether and then popping back behind cover and then disillusionment charms were quickly cast to hide their advance on foot.

In front of her, she could see an incredibly powerful ward erected over the camp. Beams of light flittered about from half a dozen sources. The ground rumbled as five beams intersected each other and a Dementor's nullity of a soul was destroyed. She could not feel her fingers or her nose or her hopes or her toes as the anguish washed over everyone. One Auror broke and ran.

And then dozen disguised fighters jumped from hiding and began to rain spells at the five demoralized Aurors. The spells were powerfully cast, but not particularly dangerous; bone softeners, tongue locks, conjunctivitis charms, jelly leg jinxes came about. The ambush was led by one man who wore no mask. The Dark Lord held the rear guard. He smiled as he saw Susan, a predatory smile of a cat seeing a mouse.

And then he played. It was revenge for his training sessions and stinging hexes shot at him. He motioned for his marauders to focus on the other Aurors and to leave Susan to him.

Susan stayed on her feet for three minutes. Half a dozen shields were sequentially destroyed. Harry had gotten good over the past two years, creative, fast and sure mixed with ever growing power. Spell chains of the oddest combinations rained down on her. He wandlessly cast her battle buddy into a tree, tying him up and stripping him naked while conjuring a ball gag to silence him. She tried everything that she had learned from both the Auror Academy and from Grimmauld's training salle. None of it worked even as she escalated the force she used. What should have been near lethal curses were brushed aside, dodged or wasted themselves on hastily erected dirt walls. What should have been duel enders merely made her friend laugh.

More Dementors were being destroyed as the duel continued. And then another dozen Aurors popped in to reinforce the overwhelmed jump squad.

_I'm sorry Susan _

A massive red ball of magical energy slammed into her right shoulder and threw her thirty meters backwards. The flight itself was not horrendous, but the landing knocked her out.

Four minutes later, the last demon was destroyed and no Auror could accurately cast at the marauders who were now portkeying away.


	4. Chapter 4 Bollocking Bolides

**Ministry of Magic, June 15, 2007**

Powerful hands cradled his recently shaved head. His eyes barely could see his toes, his body bent like the debris field of the Parkinson Manor. The Obliviators would not be done with their work for another week at the pace that they were going. The Muggle Prime Minister had, justifiably, raged at him and the entire Ministry.

There had been months of quiet. At least it was relative quiet. Two of the three potential moles into the Marauders had their magic very publicly stripped in the middle of Diagon Alley in February. Granger and both Weasleys held off the Aurors for ten minutes as Potter pulled the magical core out of the two volunteers slowly and painfully. The ruined bodies were left lying on the cobblestones. St. Mungo's had managed to stabilize the damage to their internal organs, but now even a simple _LUMOS _was too much for either of them to cast. No one knew what had happened to the third mole.

The Aurors had been able to escape the confrontation with only mild casualties. The last witch had returned to duty two weeks ago. Granger had been wounded while George Weasley neared magical exhaustion during a flurry of attacks that had forced the Aurors to continually transfigure barriers against his curses.

But that was quiet. It was a war of shadows and positioning. And it was a war that he knew that he was losing. The Wizamgamut was not quite in the control of Longbottom. Somehow that non-entity of a child had become a statesman. One of the few Muggle-borns who he knew to be completely reliable and loyal to the Ministry had suggested that Kingsley and his advisers read up on the interplay of Sinn Fein and the Irish Republican Army. That had been a depressing week of reading over the Easter Holiday. Since then, the constant legal and political skirmishes had only intensified. A bill had been introduced by the Greengrasses to change the licensing requirements for apothecaries. There was a real problem, the quality had gone down over the past two years and at least a few admissions to St. Mungo's could be laid directly on ingredient quality. Yet somehow this had become the latest test in the struggle. Longbottom and his allies were holding out for independent testing and validation of all advertising claims while Greengrass merely held out for more defined storage requirements and bonding to cover any damages. What should have been an easy three reading bill had consumed almost all of his attention for the past three months.

But at least it was a legal fight. That was a fight he could welcome especially as the most violence which had occurred was between a pair of neutral potion masters who had decided to use their floor time to carry on a seventy four year old feud. Lady Malfoy and Lord Longbottom had unified the chambers in laughter.

All had been well until last night. At 11:43 PM, the magic detectors in the DMLE had registered a spike of magic over and above that detected when Potter fought his predecessor, Voldemort in Hogwarts. Seven minutes after the alarm, the Muggle Prime Minister had rung him up.

"Are any of your people making a mess in Somerset? There is a tremendous explosion there" The exasperation was real. The two ministers had a standing phone call every three months. And they also had each other's personal, unlisted, and unrecorded number for emergency events. The Prime Minster had become a fairly frequent caller of that phone number over the course of this civil war. Most of the time, it was not one of Shacklebolt's people or a Potter Marauder.

"I don't know. Our detectors just picked up a tremendous spike, and we're trying to localize it." Even as Shacklebolt stalled for time, an Unspeakable who had been manning the detectors came to him.

"Sir, we have a localization... Parkinson Manor"

"Sir, it may be one of ours. We're sending a team to check it out"

"Get your people together, or we will have to do it for you."

Three hours later, the Aurors were still hesitant to approach the destruction. An 800 year old manor home had been destroyed. The wards were outclassed by those at Hogwarts and the Ministry. The Longbottom wards might be stronger but they might not be. Few wards in the country had been known to have been as strong as those that the Parkinsons had employed, and that was even before the current unpleastantness. Smoke emerged from a central hole in the east wing of the property. Almost nothing besides parts of the basement were recognizable as the fragments of a home. Unspeakables were giddy with excitement at the destruction. Potter had style and creativity at the very least. He had brought back some spells that they had only read about and never seen anyone cast. This promised to be a unique one.

Even as the analysis was being run, Minister Shacklebolt, Arthur Weasley and half a dozen other members of his administration huddled together half a mile from the ruins of Parkinson Manor.

"What should be do?"

"Can't call it a weather event, can't call it an earthquake... too many sensors these days..." The huddle was trying to come up with an excuse that sounded belieavable. Somehow Potter and his Mauraders had thrown a thirty five foot rock like it was a bludger and the Manor was an errant Chaser.

"Call it a meteorite?" The suggestion came from a fairly young assistant who had a mastery in astronomy. "Earth gets hit with something that can destroy a small city every couple of years. There was one that none of the muggles detected until twelve seconds before detonation only three years ago. Hell, it even has the advantage of being somewhat true."

She paused as her superiors looked at her. This was not her place to talk, but there was no reprimand.

"Very well, a "meteorite" impacted a piece of the deserted countryside in Somerset... that is what we will tell the Muggles...Is there anything else we can learn here?"

"The Unspeakables will have a full report, but there is nothing else for us here."

That was the last moment of calm for the Minister of Magic as he once again had to explain to his Muggle counterpart that he was ineffective in his job and mission.


	5. Chapter 5 Date Night

**Holyhead, Wales May 17, 2006**

The crowd roared. The whistle blew. The snitch had been caught.

The Cannon's Seeker held up the snitch in his hand. It was his first catch in the past seventeen matches. It would not have mattered. The Harpies had jumped out to a three hundred point lead over the past five hours of play.

Ginny was being crushed by her teammates. She had been responsible for two thirds of that lead. The wind had ruined her hair, the sun had burned her cheeks, and the crowds had fueled her energy. Every pass of the Quaffle was perfect, every fake had been precisely what she intended, every shot found the far corner or the five hole or barely clanged off the iron and into the hoops. This was one of her greatest games of her professional career. The Keeper and Beaters and Seeker had piled onto her, screaming their excitement into her ears. Only her fellow Chasers gave her a tiny respite as they used their bodies to keep the reserves out of the team pig-pile in the middle of the field. Two more matches, and they would lock up the top seed for the national championship; five more weeks and the season would be over. Seven more weeks and national team camp would open up.

Three hours later, the young athlete stepped out of the shower. The plastic shower curtain laced with blue and white lilies held in the steam of a forty minute shower. It was magic of the most amazing kind that allowed for a steam cleaning to occur. All the stress of the day, all the tension of the match, all the concerns of living in yet another war, this time where her family and friends and former lover had taken the black banner instead of the light washed away. She relaxed as she curled her brilliant red head that hung lightly on her shoulder and applied the lipstick that one of her teammates had picked out for her a month ago when they had gone shopping on New York's 5th Avenue during an off-day during the last week of the preseason training tour.

America had been so quiet. There was no war going on. Her eyes did not need to look for the faintest glimmer of a misapplied disillusionment charm, her ears could process the crack of a door slamming shut as merely that instead of a rapid apparition. She did not need to wandlessly cast potion detecting charms on her food. She still did all of that as this was her way to survive. She had been professionally paranoid since she was eleven. Five weeks and five thousand miles would not erase her routines but the freedom inherent to the realization that she did not need to be constantly vigilant was a luxury.

She dressed and then undressed. The little black dress was not quite the right dress for tonight. Instead she chose a sun dress and a shawl to cover her shoulders in case the air was slightly chilly after a long dinner and a few glasses of wine that she intended to have with her date. Paul was a squib. He made her laugh and he knew enough about her world to be comfortable with her realities. He had gone into hiding in 1997. The hiding was not difficult as he earned a computer science degree at the American University of Paris. Since then, he was almost entirely in the Muggle World. He was doing something with a Muggle bank that she did not understand. He muttered and cursed poorly written code and would sound quite a bit like Luna as he talked about the bugs that he found.

Ginny curled her hair and waved her wand one last time. She smiled as she twirled in front of the three fold mirror. Her ass was tight, her make-up was subtle, and the dress was just right. She slid her primary wand into a dragon hide holster along her arm and then cast a notice-me-not charm with back up wand. She slid that second wand into the garter belt. It had saved her more than once in the past seven years to be able to surprise someone who sought to surprise her with an Expelliarmus or a stunner in the back. One last check of her foe glass and the wards, and she was ready to leave her apartment.


	6. Chapter 6 Kings Quadruple Crossing

Glasgow, Scotland September 2004

George Weasley tapped his toe quietly. He shifted his weight between the balls of his feet as his eyes took in the cafe. It was a Muggle cafe with a Muggle crowd doing Muggle things. Everything was run by electricity and the whirl of the espresso machine was comforting as the beans were crushed and ground into a fine powder. His father, who he had not seen in four years, would be ecstatic.

The young woman with a small hoop in her left nostril was humming to herself as the milk foamed over the double shot of awareness. She could not be mistaken for a potion mistress with her clothes, but the care she took in the mixing and preparation of unusual ingredients to make something of incredible value would have won the approval of the late and not too lamented Professor Snape.

"Here you go luv"

George smiled, and she smiled back with the muscles around her blue eyes actually moving. This brown haired man had been coming into her shop one or two days a week for the past couple of months. He would get a double espresso or a cappuccino every time, sit in a corner and stare out the window briefly before working on a crossword puzzle for fifteen or twenty minutes before rising to leave with a smile and a wave. He seldom said much, but he took care to avoid causing a disturbance when walking to the water closet. His blue eyes readily acknowledged the simple reality that he was a man who found her at least worth looking at, he also was extremely proficient at looking at her lips and and gray eyes as she spoke instead of wandering.

Their hands touched briefly with the small ceramic cup mediating the contact. She enjoyed having her fingers linger on his hands for a moment. They were not the hands of a student. Instead, they were rough, calloused and strong. She wondered what this young man did to build those hands. Was he a mason? Was he a parkour athlete? Was he an engineer on the oil platforms that were built on the Clyde before being towed to the North Sea fields? Her curiosity continued as she counted out the few coins that she owed her quasi-regular customer and more than regular subject of her imagination.

"Thank you miss." He enjoyed her smile. She enjoyed the glimmer of intensity in his eyes for that moment they shared.

He found a good seat, and took the first sip of his cappuccino. This was not quite as good as a Pepper-Up but the side-effects were far less pronounced and there would be no steam flowing from his ears and stripping the dye from his hair. He could take the change for the team and the mission. His eyes glanced out the window and looked at the dead drop that several former Death Eaters had been using. A house elf had passed the information along months ago, and almost constant but distant surveillance had started minutes after the intelligence was validated.

Steady flows of the usual suspects had been observed. Many wizards would apparate into an abandoned factory half a mile away which had been layered with light Muggle repelling charms. A conflagration had burned out the abandoned factory's front office in the first few months of this conflict, the third Wizarding civil war in the past two generations. The couriers would hurry to the sweet shop across the street of the cafe and either deliver or collect small packages.

Today was another run. Today was an important day. A tail had been kept on a new suspect, a middle aged wizard of middling power. He came of age in the decade of peace, his life in the Gryffindor Tower and as a beater during the time of the Weasley dominance of the team. He was expected to pick up a dead drop. The question was whether has was with the Ministry or a private consortium.

Ron had insisted that the Ministry's mole not be eliminated quickly. His source was being treated as a mushroom - kept in the dark and fed shit about the Marauders' actual plans and structures. Dribbles and drabs of real data had been leaked for months. A few known Marauders were the lodestars of the chicken feed, their activities and motivations routinely leaked, usually just after the information would be immediately useful but if the Unspeakables and DLME were trying to build profiles, there was real value being released. More importantly, hints about a quiet, low level Marauder mole who had her fingers in the Department of International Cooperation had been leaked. If Kingsley and the Aurors were able to figure out who was passing along information to Potter, Weasley and Granger, they would wish that they could go through the Veil instead of being wrung dry for every drop of information they ever had. She was disposable, or at least if the chess-master had to sacrifice a piece, he would readily give up a pawn to gain position on a bishop.

However, that bishop needed to be watched. And that was what George was doing this morning as he drank his cappuccino. He needed to keep an eye on the mole and see who would collect the chicken shit being dropped off.

There was little for George to do besides watch so he watched. His eyes scanned the street. A witch, a half-blood whose family of a Muggle husband and three children who were all on the Hogwarts admission list, walked by, pushing her pram with her eighteen month old daughter giggling and playing with half a dozen balls levitating in front of her face. His eyes swept back and forth and took in the sight of the barista. She smiled at him as she hummed a tune from a band in the States about somebody's girlfriend looking like their boyfriend from last year. That boy was did not look like someone's girlfriend.

And then there was a bang outside the door. The window broke in. Half a dozen patrons were cut by glass. The young man that she was eyeing up did something that was wrong for the moment. He did not seek cover. He did not seek protection. A streak of red light entered the shop. It slammed into the espresso machine, throwing steam into the air. His eyes moved slightly and then he flicked his wrist and suddenly a pale purple light erupted. He hips were moving even before his feet started to catch up.

Four, five, six more red flashes came into the shop. The mirror above the counter exploded, shards of glass falling like hail. None of them hit the clerk. Somehow her nose was on the floor and a tray was over her head before she had any ability to think about moving. Her eyes scanned through the chaos. A few people were beginning to scramble towards a door. They piled up as the door was stuck. A crush of bodies pushed forward until an unnaturally loud voice called for quiet and ordered them to turnaround and work towards the back. When she told the bobbies what happened, she still could not figure out how that attractive young man could have pitched his voice so effectively. Her flatmate was training to become an opera singer and her vocal presence would be put to shame. She could explain very little of that morning. Somewhere half a dozen of her customer's friends emerged and bastardized Latin curses were uttered more than once. The clerk was scared when she saw a golden glow around a woman only a few years older than her. That woman's eyes were focused on a spot deep within her soul and then suddenly, dozens of shards from the broken table erupted through the windows.

The clerk could not tell what had happened after that as her favorite customer stunned her and then apologized. He left a ten pound tip in her fingers before joining the battle.

George laughed. He laughed like he had not laughed since Fred had died. He was in the middle of at least a quadruple cross. And the chaos was his friend. He dodged, and cast, and jumped and ducked. Ron and Harry threw up shields while Hermione cast broad area jinxes. Two new Marauders protected their back and their escape route. Eleven minutes after the start of the ambush and eight minutes after reinforcements arrived, the Marauders had created enough space for them to disengage, leaving behind half a dozen mercenary bodies in the employ of the Nott family behind before they apparated to Flotta.


	7. Chapter 7 Parental Pride

**August 14, 2013 Nonant, France**

The small house was overwhelmed with people. Strong wards, carefully grown privacy hedges that Professor Sprout would have approved, and more than a few muffling charms had kept the neighbors from looking askance at the thousand year old stone farmhouse that had seen the armies of William walk by on the way to the docks. If they had looked, Muggles would have been perplexed. They would not have been perplexed at the three English adults that vacationed there; they bothered no one. The red head and his brother were more than willing to help with resetting a stone wall or fixing the bocage. The brunette woman who was just as likely to kiss the redhead as the raven haired man had a nearly accentless command of Parisian French so she could sound quite funny to the Norman villagers while the raven haired man seldom appeared alone, but he had a kind word when his focus could be brought back to the mundane. No, the neighbors would not be perplexed at the living arrangements of people who used the house for a few weeks per year... they were French after all.

Instead, they would be perplexed at how many people were fairly comfortable inside the three room house. At least four dozen people were sharing drinks, eating appetizers that suddenly appeared from nowhere and listening to popular music that sounded vaguely familiar in tone and tune but utterly foreign with regards to the lyrics. The members of the triowere well respected if the neighbors had a moment to look around. The raven haired man had a paternal arm over the shoulder of a teenage boy who had a sharp, angular face, penetrating blue eyes that one could lose their soul in if they allowed themselves to stare, and an angular, athletic build. The paternal pride was evident as the adult showed the young man who was still growing into adulthood off to his friends. It was the young man's party. If the neighbors stayed long enough and if they could remember, they would hear that the young man had been made a prefect of Hufflepuff, what ever that could be.

None of the neighbors found that out. The Muggle repelling charms had been layered on thick that afternoon. The wards had been inspected and modified ever so slightly that morning by one of the best ward masters in Europe, and a leading action leader of the Marauders. A dozen of the fastest wands in England had set strong disillusionment charms on themselves before settling in for a long night of patrols and watches. No one besides those who had been given a port-key would be able to enter the property.

By midnight, the soon to be fifth year prefect was exhausted. His godfather had insisted on a party after hearing the news. It had taken over a week for the security arrangements to be settled upon and the party was as well organized and executed as any Marauder raid. He just wished that a certain cute Slytherin had been invited. But she could not be allowed to see just who had shown up. Teddy Lupin knew all of the faces that his godfather and his two soul bonded companions would invite. The Continentals and Levantine contingent were long family friends who had supported the new English Dark Lord. Everyone who spoke with any of a dozen British accents had at least a 5,000 galleon reward on their head. Teddy knew he would be interrogated, reasonably gently, by the Aurors when he got back to Hogwarts. Professor Flitwick and Assistant Professor McMahon would protect him as they had for the past four years.

Susan McMahon had arrived in his second year to take on some of the teaching responsibilities for Transfiguration. She was young, half-blood and utterly amazing at getting first, second and third years to truly understand the mechanics of what they were doing so by the time they reached McGonagall's 4th year class, they were ready for advanced magic. She had always been a ready ear and a supportive shoulder for any of her students. The first time an Auror had tried to question Teddy about his family without a barrister present, she stunned and disarmed the arrogant toe rag and had gotten off without charges as she was within her rights by the Hogwarts Charter. Half a dozen assistant professors were now roaming the corridors of the Scottish castle as the post-war baby boom double and tripled incoming class sizes from the generational lows of the early '90s.

He knew he would be questioned again. He also knew that he could give the Aurors nothing that they did not know. Yes, he saw his godfather, Dark Lord Potter. Yes, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley were with him. Yes, he received a book from Aunt Hermione, no it was not inherently dark unless insomnia cures were to be reclassified. Uncle Ron had sprung for a new Quidditch broom, yes the aurors could inspect it. It would be the same conversation he had last year, and he appreciated the care his god father had gone to protect him from seeing too much of the rebellion that he led.

He hugged the man the ministry feared the most, and exchange an increasingly manly handclasp and then shoulder tap hug with his quasi-uncle Ron. Hermione gave him a pat on the back, and then a bone-crushing hug. This year he noticed that she still had quite a nice shape under the robes. He felt dirty and ashamed and please at the same time. Being fifteen was full of confusing feelings and realizations. He stopped pondering minutes after casting a Silencio and moments after his head hit a pillow.

**August 17, 2013**

Hermione Granger woke up. Ron was next to here, his chest slowly moving up and down. A quarter formed question and exclamation escaped his lips as his left hip was now cold. She smiled and tucked him back in. Harry had been up for at least an hour now. Whenever they were on downtime, Harry would rise before dawn for some wand work or a long training session with a sadist who had trained DGSE direct action teams for years before being recruited to the Marauders after his first generation witch sister had been slaughtered by a Pureblood vengeance squad in Dover.

She shook her head. An odd feeling had overwhelmed her moments after Teddy accidentally realized that she had breasts. As she brushed her teeth, she stopped, and felt her breasts - they were still quite nice and firm, and then she took a hard look at herself in the mirror. She was trim, strong and athletic. Her 14 year old self would not recognize the woman in front of her. A fitness regime almost appropriate for a Muggle commando would do that. She put down her tooth brush. She looked at the scars. A few from the 2nd Blood War, including _MUDBLOOD_ from being tortured by Bellatrix. Most of her scars were from the civil war in which she was the chief strategist. Once Fiendfyre lapped at her wrist as she tried to force it back. Another was from an Auror who clipped her with a family curse that she had not reversed. Her left cheek was scraped one night by a creature Hagrid would think was cute and fluffy during a manor attack. She ran her hand through her short pixie cut hair. It was a good way to deal with the volume that did not involve dozens of galleons of SleakEazy or hours using "ethnic" hair products that she could get shipped in from the States.

Her hands stopped moving. She knew what the odd feeling was. It had started to nibble at the back of her mind as soon as Harry smiled when he read the message from Teddy that he was to be a prefect. Harry was so happy. No, Harry was so proud. Teddy had become a nephew in all but name to her, but she wanted more.

Forty minutes later, both Harry and Ron were in the kitchen. They talked about plans for the day. Morning would be reviewing logistics and recruitment, while the afternoon would be focused on a diplomatic offensive. The conversation stopped as their soul bonded friend stepped into the room. They could feel the sudden ease that had swept over her minutes ago. They waited. She smiled at them and looked more relaxed than she had in weeks. Something had resolved itself in her brilliant mind.

Hermione Granger looked at her two friends, her two soul bonded friends, her companion in arms. And decided that she was ready for her announcement:

"Boys, I want to have your babies..."

**Hogwarts, June 30, 2021**

The headmistress went up the winding stairs to look at the Book of Admittance for the incoming classes of 2024 and 2025. Strategic planning sessions with the staff would be starting the following week. The school had graduated over 100 witches and wizards just a week ago. They had lost a few from the class of 2014 due to parents moving but there were no deaths, no permanent curses, and the longest anyone spent with Madam Pomfrey over their entire career was less than the Dark Lord typically spent with the matron's aunt in a single academic year.

The old headmistresses looked at the book and began counting names. Already 2024 and 2025 promised to be larger than the just graduated class. A few more students would be identified as they aged and their magic strengthened. She now looked at the names, and her eyes stopped and then restarted twice.

She submitted her resignation that evening and took a well deserved retirement.


	8. Chapter 8

Knockturn Alley, July 7,2002

At the intersection of Knockturn Alley and Carn Alley was a small, non-descript door that very few people would ever admit that they entered. Yet, somehow the proprietors had earned enough on a regular basis to pay the rent. A single security witch stood the door. She used her enchanted eye to look over the customers who entered the door. She could see through glamours and disguises with an ease that would make the security officials at muggle Heathrow jealous even as they struggled to install their new scanners after the terrorist attack in America.

The real security was the combination of the wards that rippled with raw power fed by a ley line that powered the wards of the entire shopping district and the observation post across the street. The landlords had tapped the ley line four hundred and seventy three years ago. They were one of seven direct taps; five were owned by the Ministry and the last fed the wards of the Leaky Cauldron. Goblins were well compensated to maintain both the power tap's runes and the wards themselves. The observation post catalogued every wand and every weapon that came within thirty meters of the door. The wards were strong enough to stop a full fledged assault from anything and everything in the Ministry for at least an hour.

The alley standing security witch smiled as she ran her wand and probe over the three dark cloaked individuals. The glamours were good, not perfect but good. They hurried into the door quickly. The lead witch took three quick steps down the hall and her companions followed her a few seconds later. They were ready for a fight. It was the only way that they had survived so far. All of them had been trained by Shacklebolt and Moody and they were the only Aurors of the Class of 1994 that had survived the civil war. They had gone to ground minutes after the Death Eater coup. Their wands had claimed eleven snatchers and two mid-level Death Eaters before the Battle of Hogwarts.

The leader had arrived at Hogwarts minutes before the new Dark Lord's body had been presented to the exhausted defenders. She was only a few meters from Granger and had heard her gasp. During the chaos of the second phase of the battle, at least two mysterious protegos had erupted meters from her. One had absorbed a bone crusher that she had not even felt coming at her. Another dissipated a trio of piercing curses that her own battered shields might have been able to amerioliorate but not stop.

The few years of peace had barely been peaceful for the Aurors. The expected surge of combat hardened recruits that had spent time in Dumbledore's Army never arrived. Bones was good, she would eventually be truly great; young but promising. And then there was almost no one else following her. Instead half trained half wits from "reliable" families had entered the Academy. Aurors had become a patronage post again and then Harry and his Maurauders had started striking in the past year. A dozen new aurors and a few that had openly survived the war by just following orders from whomever was above them had already been killed. Another three had just disappeared. Everyone suspected that their bodies would never be found as Granger knew too many creative means to make a body disappear until miles of granite or sea water. She did not mourn them. She strongly suspected that many of the dead Aurors were at least sympathetic to Voldemort and his Death Eaters if not unmarked auxiliaries. However two good Aurors had also died. One was a member of the Class of 93 and the other had fought at Hogwarts with Slughorn. Within days of each of their deaths, three years worth of wages had been anonymously deposited into family accounts.

Their guide stopped. The host nodded and suddenly a portal opened in the wall. Neville Longbottom was sitting in a booth with his back to the wall and his eyes on the portal. He was no longer the slightly overweight teen without any confidence. He radiated power and confidence even as he was casually dressed and relaxed without a wand in his hand.

"Welcome friends... please come in and share salt and bread with me to take temporary guest rights..." This was old magic. Salt and bread was not quite an unbreakable vow, but it would be the best protection against an ambush that any of the Aurors could hope for.

The leader sat, and her two companions joined her. They holstered their wands while Neville broke a few small rolls sized morsels and then offered each of the three Aurors. All four sprinkled salt on the bread before putting it in their mouths and chewing. The ritual was complete.

"How may I help you as I assume that you need help otherwise, this meeting would take place at the Ministry instead of a brothel?" Neville spoke softly but with steel in his voice.

"We want out"

"Out of what and why do you think that a herbologist can assist you in getting out of whatever you need to get out of?" His strong hands opened, thick wrists that could twist a neck until it snapped pointed up at the ceiling as he waited. He knew that these three Aurors eventaully wanted but he needed to make them become supplicants instead of co-conspirators.

"We want out of the civil war, and we know who your friends are. We know that you are at least aligned with Potter and his Marauders even if you have never raised your wand in concert with him. We know your are his Sinn Fein to the Maurader's IRA. We know that you have sway and we want you to use it." The lead Auror spoke with as much confidence as she had heard in Neville's voice. He had the power, but she had both guest rights and knowledge that Neville would like.

Neville waited. He cut into the roasted cauliflower that was in front of him and gestured for the Aurors to share in the food laid out on the table. They ate in silence, the three aurors steeling themselves with occulumency to hold their discipline. If they were not concerned for their lives, the food would be amazing. Tonight was the culmination of months of plotting and failure could bring both the Ministry and the Marauders down on them.

"Would you like a 1977 Bourdeaux; it is Muggle but incredible" Neville was offering even as he wandlessly conjured four glasses and began to pour the wine into them. He offered a splash to the lead Auror for a sniff and as she nodded her approval, the wine bottle was quickly emptied into the other.

As the four young veterans drank, Neville took a breath in.

"Let us assume purely, hypothetically of course, that I have either the power or influence that you believe I have... what would you like me to do with that hypothetical power for you and why should I do it?"

The three Aurors stopped drinking. This was the moment they had been angling towards.

"We want out. And we want our families to be safe."

"We all want our families to be safe. Hypothetically, emigrating to America or Australia would be a wise decision. I have always wanted to go to New Zealand as their vineyards are quite unique. I would, of course hypothetically, think that rapid emigration in the next thirty or forty days would be far wiser than months or years. The Dark Lord seems to be quite cautious when engaging with his former comrades in arms from the recent unpleasentness while he is quite aggressive towards those who either did not fight or fought against him in the past. That might be worth noting to the other veterans of Hogwarts. But again, I am merely speculating about things that I know nothing about beyond what I read in the _Prophet."_

The Aurors did not realize that they were holding their breaths until Neville was done. The message was clear and it was generous. They would not be asked to betray any of their current oaths. They, and any other veteran of Hogwarts would be given a free pass to leave as long as they left in the near future. The leader nodded at her compatriots.

"Thank you for your company and our repast tonight; the conversation was enlightening"

"The pleasure was mine Senior Auror Littleford. I hope that life treats you well and that our conversation was enlightening."

With that, the three Aurors left the room.


End file.
